


Murder in the Dark

by bennybonny



Series: TF fics [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, This is all your fault, d stands for dark, happy birthday tailgate, he's dead already, my fave trope, poor little guy, riptide gets the d, rodimus is great at planning parties but bad at scheduling, stuck in a cupboard hell yeah, the 'murder' is me killing minimus with embarrasment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21343921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennybonny/pseuds/bennybonny
Summary: sometimes you just wanna write the otp stuck in a cupboard yanno?? presumably new universe fic(but i really love the trope so i put everyone else in the cupboard too. cupboard party hell yeah)
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus, Megatron/Ultra Magnus
Series: TF fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048837
Comments: 24
Kudos: 98





	Murder in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my drafts and polished it up. made it gayer. did the thing with comic sans - i cant believe it works!!!!! anyway this a short fluffy thing, hope u enjoy hell yeah

“I Spy?” Riptide offered hopefully.

“I Spy.”

“Yeah!”

“In the dark.”

“Yeah!”

Rodimus was contemplative for a long time, and then said, “All right, you go first.”

“I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘D’.”

“Is it - the dark?”

“How’d you know?”

“A wild guess.”

Rodimus lay back against the hood of a race-car. It was Drift, physically in alt-mode, but mentally absent - he’d fallen asleep about an hour earlier, having not recharged properly the night before. Drift snored. The metal hummed quietly. Powerfully. Such vibrations were not wasted: Rodimus had claimed his comatose body as a massage chair.

“All right then. Charades.” Riptide suggested.

“_No_,” said Minimus Ambus. He was backed up by a chorus of more obscene refusals.

“Aww why not?”

“For two reasons.” Rodimus said. “One: Swerve and Bluestreak are asleep, and no one else knows enough Earth culture to guess… whatever obscure thing you’ll poorly mime.”

“And the other reason?”

“It’s pitch black.” Velocity said, wearily.

“Right, right.”

For a short time there was peace. The dark was was full of the inhale and exhale of a lot of sleeping bodies. Given the cramped room, the tired bots had voluntarily transformed into alt-mode, and had been involuntarily stacked in the corner. Minimus disapproved. But then, he endorsed very little about the situation: they were stranded in what was, essentially, a cupboard - at least until Nautica came by for a morning inspection of the ship’s hangar bays.

To save space, the Magnus armour was somewhere at the bottom of the sleeping pile, in alt-mode. Minimus himself sat propped against a wall.

“Murder in the dark.” Crosscut suggested.

“How do you play?” Riptide said, curious - he was frustratingly well rested.

“We all walk around in the dark, and one person is the murderer-”

“Yeah no I’d worked that bit out, would you believe it.”

“- and if the murderer taps you on the shoulder, you’re dead, so you have to count to five and then perish dramatically.”

“How do you perish if you’re already dead?”

“No, not _dead_-dead, just _out-of-the-game_ dead.”

Minimus put his head back and stifled a groan. He had no patience for '_contrastive focus reduplication'_ \- using a word in double succession for the sake of emphasis or clarity. ‘_Dead_-dead’? _Really?_ It was like saying you were ‘more than ready’: a grammatical impossibility. Ever since Perceptor and Brainstorm had dropped off, the conversation had gotten a lot more nonsensical.

Megatron, next to him, spoke up. “What does that mean: perish dramatically?”

“Well, really exaggerated.”

“Choking? Crying? Screaming?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Would you say that’s a good idea, with about a dozen ex-soldiers sleeping in the corner?”

Crosscut rethought his game. “Yeah probably not.”

“Probably not, no.”

Minimus gave Megatron a grateful look. In the dark, Megatron didn’t see it.

“Well what would you suggest?” Rodimus asked.

Megatron shifted awkwardly. “Me? Suggest a _fun activity_?”

“No, I’d like another drama game from Crosscut - yes, you.”

“I could always recite some poetry-“

He was drowned out by groans, and if possible, an even more obscene refusal than Riptide had received. Minimus sniffed. There was no need for that kind of language.

“Thanks. But if I wanted to fall asleep, I’d ask Magnus to walk us through the Autobot Code, line by line.”

Minimus perked up. “If you like-“

More groans. More obscenity. Minimus sat back against the wall: glad that no one could see the disappointment on his face. Megatron shuffled a little closer and put a hand on his knee. It was a small comfort.

“Whose _bloody fault_ is it that we’re stuck here in the first place, though?” said Crosscut, who hadn’t liked the stab at his ‘drama games’.

“It wasn’t _my_ fault-“

“Oh _really_, captain? Because I seem to remember you saying ‘everyone follow me into this dark room, I’ve got a fantastic plan, just wait, it’ll be awesome’.”

“If you want to blame anyone, blame Tailgate. It’s his birthday.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well we know that_ now_.”

“It’s past midnight.” It was pedantic, but Minimus couldn’t help but correct Crosscut. “Therefore, technically, today _is_ Tailgate’s birthday.”

Megatron spoke quietly. “Rodimus. Can I just say-“

“Nope! A-bup-bup! Sh!”

“-it would have been an ‘awesome’ surprise party,” he finished dryly.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“_If it had actually been Tailgate’s birthday_.”

“Yes Crosscut! We know!”

Rodimus huffed. There was an uncomfortable silence. Minimus had no doubt that a couple of bots pretended to fall asleep in order to avoid the awkward atmosphere. He wasn’t usually one to jump to such conclusions, but the loud, synthesised snores were a bit too obvious to be completely natural.

Eventually the after-argument feeling faded. Rodimus sighed: less grumpily, this time.

“I _said_ I was sorry.”

Everyone still 'awake' gave a half-hearted ‘yeah all right, all right, it’s fine’.

Rewind suggested, “How about _‘You’re Thinking Of_…’?”

“Oh, no.” Minimus refused sternly. “A game based around deliberate misunderstandings and incorrect word definitions? _No_.”

“Fine. Who wants another encore of ‘I’m a Lonely Cybertronian’?”

“No!” Minimus said, over the top of any possible agreements. He’d already sat through thirty three verses of ‘I’m a Lonely Cybertronian’, by a choir that had opted for ‘volume’ rather than ‘harmony’. Three verses in, he’d had to recalibrate his audial receptors. Nevertheless, he feared the song was forever ruined for him, if not music as a whole.

“Well we can’t play anything that requires _actual thought_, so what do you suggest?”

“One word sentences?” Chromedome offered.

“Genius!” Rodimus jumped on the suggestion before Minimus could veto it. “We’ll go round in a circle, I’ll start. ‘Once’.”

“Upon.”

“A.”

“Big.”

“Ship.”

“Lived.”

“Two.”

“Scraplets.”

“Who.”

“Are.”

“Lovers.”

A snicker went through the room. Minimus winced at the tense change.

“‘Aft’.”

“They.”

“Said.”

More giggles. Minimus winced again.

“And.”

“Crashed.”

“Into.”

“Moon.”

The scraplets went on to eat their ship, smash several planets, die, and come back to life. When the story began to trail off, Minimus grew suspicious. But then he noticed the lack of obvious snores, and even more prevalent, the lack of new game suggestions. Hearing Rodimus yawn clinched it. The others were falling asleep.

Megatron leaned down to whisper beside Minimus’ head. “And they said_ we_ would have been soporific.”

Minimus was full of vindication. “Yes. Improper _and_ hypocritical.”

“Quite! At any rate, this game is absurd. I’d have preferred to listen to you.”

Someone in the alt-mode pile groaned faintly. A nightmare? A restless sleeper? Whatever it was, Megatron and Minimus fell silent, out of respect for those attempting to sleep. Minimus was just glad the pile of assorted vehicles was hidden in the dark. It meant he couldn’t see how obviously ill-stacked the pile was, which would have made him nervous. In fact, for his mental peace, Minimus deemed it best not to think about the situation at all. Better not to remember how absurd things were. Better to stay in the moment.

About an hour later, Megatron awkwardly fixed his posture. “Do you think you’ll head the same way as everyone else?”

Minimus sighed. “I’d love to, really, but I’m not in the least tired.”

“Me neither. Shame.”

“Besides, this wall isn’t exactly comfortable. My back aches.”

“Walls are not notorious for their softness. If you like, I could… oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“Well it’s dark I suppose, but… no, not here.”

“_What_?”

“I could serve as a backrest.” Megatron whispered dryly. “Primus knows Rodimus isn’t shy about using Drift.”

Minimus nearly said that was different - that was Rodimus and Drift - that _he_ had a very different opinion on casually shared contact. He nearly refused. But his back rather did hurt, and he was a little tired, and so instead he folded gracefully.

“Oh. If you insist.”

He shuffled close against Megatron, who unfortunately made a splendid backrest. Minimus stiffened nervously. He enjoyed it. But he didn’t like that he enjoyed it. Despite all his misgivings, however, he still leant back against the other bot, and appreciated the warmth and faint vibrations.

Megatron rubbed his shoulders. Minimus jumped.

“Shh. You’re tense.” Megatron whispered in his ear.

“O-oh, am I?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Minimus didn’t say anything.

Megatron, bit by bit, managed to manually relax the stiff mechanical components in Minimus’ back. Minimus, for his part, managed to melt helplessly back against the other man. It was too easy to get used to this. Despite his warmth, Minimus felt a shiver run through his frame: a wave of relaxation just as if he’d sunk into a warm bath. No. Enough. He was enjoying it far too much for his own good.

“Yes, yes, that’ll do.” Minimus said brusquely.

Megatron immediately stopped. “You dislike it?”

“N-no.” The opposite, rather - and that was the problem.

“You’re not uncomfortable?”

“No. _Primus,_ Megatron-“

“So you don’t mind if I continue?”

“_No_, but- _Ahh_…”

Minimus shivered again. His normally perfect posture put a certain strain on his back-struts, and while he normally didn’t feel it, he also normally didn’t sleep sitting up against a wall. Megatron’s thorough massage put paid to the strain. Minimus hadn’t even known he could feel this liquid. Devoid of any other choice, he let himself go limp, and let the feeling wash over him.

It felt like warm oil. Smooth, and soothing, and luxurious. Suffused with heady happiness, Minimus started humming to himself.

Megatron startled. “I thought you didn’t like that song.”

“Yes, sung like they sung it, I don’t like it.”

“How should it be sung?”

“Properly.”

“How does that sound?”

Minimus sung the lyrics on the next chorus. “_I’m a lonely Cybertronian_…”

He sung it through. Megatron finished his massage, leaving Minimus languid. “Are you?”

“It’s a song.”

“But _are_ you?”

“No.”

“I’m glad.” 

“And you?”

Emboldened by the darkness, perhaps, Megatron leant down and brushed his lips across Minimus’ temple. “No.”

“O-oh.” Minimus’ tongue stuck in his mouth for a moment. “G-good to hear.”

Megatron straightened back against the wall, but he kept an arm around Minimus’ shoulders. So close, Minimus could feel the movement of every small mechanism in Megatron's larger frame, all the quiet clicks and whirrs, thinking and feeling and living. He felt him sigh.

Out nowhere, Megatron said, “Minimus, you’re allowed to let yourself enjoy things, you know.”

It startled Minimus so completely he couldn’t think of a reply. He was suddenly terribly conscious of the smallness of his frame. Their closeness. The listening darkness. He might have said something in acknowledgement - he wasn’t quite sure.

“You don’t need to shy away from happiness.” Megatron continued, undeterred.

“I’m not. Familiar with… happiness.”

“I’ve seen it in you. Every now and again, like sunlight, it breaks through. I find you more alive, in those moments.”

Minimus inhaled shakily, but the metallic scent of tension - of _Megatron_ \- filled his mouth. It didn’t do much for his nerves. “When? What moments?”

“Often. Too many to count.”

“Others would not share your opinion.”

“Then they don’t know you as I do.”

Minimus was trembling, but to his great relief, he felt Megatron trembling as well. Yes, he was out of his depth. Sure, he had no idea how to act in this situation. But if nothing else, at least he wasn’t alone in his inexpertise. It was a great comfort. Minimus could be as lost as he liked, and he would find only patience. Understanding.

Out of nowhere, he heard himself whisper, “You make me happy.”

Minimus immediately he wished he could unsay the words, take it back, make Megatron un-hear him. But the other bot just inhaled shakily.

And, nestled in so close beside him, Minimus felt the sudden stutter of every small mechanism in Megatron's larger frame...

“When?” Megatron asked.

“Often. Now, for example.”

They were still whispering - well, they didn’t want to wake anyone, did they?

“Megatron.”

“Minimus?”

“Shrink down for a moment.”

Megatron twisted to face Minimus fully, and obeyed. He was now at eye-level; in fact, his burning red optics were all that could be seen of him. Minimus felt himself burning up as well. It was embarrassing to do this in a crowded room - but they were alone in wakefulness, and anyway, it was dark.

Too dark. Minimus reached hesitantly out. Searching. He found Megatron’s nose.

“Wha-?”

“I apologise!”

“Oh!” Megatron laughed quietly in realisation. “Oh.”

“May I?”

“Yes.”

Minimus found Megatron’s jaw. His mouth. Swept his thumb over it and fixed the position in his mind. In the back of his thoughts, he noted that Megatron was breathing erratically, and realised he was as well. Megatron’s optics dimmed into nothing. Minimus leaned in.

It was barely a kiss. It made Minimus’ lips itch with the desire to deepen the sensation. Yet he drew back, he hesitated.

He enjoyed it. He was scared of how much he enjoyed it.

_‘Minimus, you’re allowed to let yourself enjoy things, you know.’_

The simple echo of Megatron's words was enough to break his restraint. Minimus surrendered to longing. And as soon as he did so, as soon as he committed completely, Megatron reached around to cup the back of his head and kiss him soundly in return, rich and warm and affectionate. Like warm oil. Smooth, and soothing, and luxurious. 

Minimus melted helplessly into it. He’d never get used to this. Never. And he never wanted to. Twice, it seemed about to end. Twice. they lingered, unwilling to end it so soon.

They broke away breathless.

“Well.” Megatron gasped as quietly as he could.

“Quite.”

Minimus almost leaned back in - but with the lack of visibility, realised he risked kissing Megatron on the nose. Instead, he sat against the wall and sighed.

"How hypocritical."

"What?"

"I called _them_ improper - but look at us."

"It is a little ironic."

“And absurd.” For the first time, Minimus grasped the whole of their ridiculous situation. “We are currently stuck in a cramped, crowded cupboard. We are waiting for a delayed surprise party - happy birthday to Tailgate, by the way - and our only hope of freedom lies with Nautica’s diligence. Is it really sensible to point out amusing ironies at a time like this?”

Megatron replied with certainty. “_Especially_ at a time like this.”

“Ah. I was being rhetorical…”

“Self deprecating humour, I know. I simply thought your question was a ‘set-up’, so I followed through with the punchline.”

“Oh! Very good.” Minimus hummed. “Next time, you may want to try a lighter tone? The ‘delivery’ is often hard, but with your eloquence you should be able to manage it.”

“Noted, thank you.”

Megatron still hadn't re-activated his mass-displacement. Minimus decided not to mention it.

“Would you recite something?” He asked, instead.

“It would be my pleasure.”

And gradually, Minimus fell asleep to the rhythmic ebb and flow of Megatron’s voice.

It would take until morning for Nautica to come searching for them, and free them all from the locked cupboard. It would take until then, before they would be able to see properly. And as such, it would take until morning - with both Megatron and Minimus still asleep - for anyone to realise that in the night, accidentally, somehow, Megatron had wound up wearing Minimus’ moustache.

**Author's Note:**

> "dont take urself seriously!!! have fun!! don't think!!" - this is what went through my mind while writing.... it rules lol u should try it
> 
> you can thank jnwiedle for the moustache switch idea. their comic. is a classic. the og minimegs lbr
> 
> https://blog.jnwiedle.com/post/138303161407/mustache-transfer
> 
> anyway hell yeah!! hope u enjoyed ;)


End file.
